


When a Heart Knows Fear

by RemyJane



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Platonic Bed Sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyJane/pseuds/RemyJane
Summary: In Holden’s dreams, it isn’t a hug.In his dreams, it’s meaty hands around his neck until he sees stars. In his dreams, Kemper’s muted smile is the last thing he sees as the world turns dark.———Holden deals with the fall out of meeting with Kemper. Bill helps, in his own way.





	When a Heart Knows Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Holden finally gets feelings, albeit in the last 5 minutes and as a panic attack. But I’m glad he isn’t still a robot.

In Holden’s dreams, it isn’t a hug. 

In his dreams, it’s meaty hands around his neck until he sees stars. In his dreams, Kemper’s muted smile is the last thing he sees as the world turns dark. In his dreams, Kemper’s ‘spirit-wives’ touch his shoulders and his back-

Holden usually wakes up then, sweaty and sick. He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He tried to slow his breathing but he couldn’t. Instead, he sank to the floor and waited for the terror to pass. 

He had to get it together; his one week suspension was over, he had to go to work tomorrow. 

Bill had assured him that the suspension and the official reprimand on his file were a slap on the wrist. Holden knew he was lucky; their profiling was developed enough to be turning heads and it was not in the Bureau’s best interest to create scandal for itself. 

He also knew he wouldn’t be falling back to sleep. He hadn’t been able to after the previous dreams. He pushed himself up and made his way to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and staring at the wall, exhausted. 

Exhausted, but afraid to sleep. 

—-

“So, you look like shit.” Bill began, loosening his tie as soon as they reached their hotel room. “Why?”

Holden sat on the edge of his bed, the words washing over him. He toed his shoes off and stared at his feet, unsure what he was suppose to do next. 

“Holden.” Bill said louder, catching his attention. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing.” He paused, considering. He had to tell him something, even if it wasn’t all of the truth. “Debbie and I broke up.” He admitted. 

Bill’s mouth twisted in sympathetic frown. “That’s a shame.” He said. “She seemed like a nice girl.” He produced a bottle of whiskey, pouring two glasses. 

“Thanks.” Holden said, accepting the drink. His hands felt numb around the glass, unable to feel it’s chill. The numbness spread up his arms, he couldn’t feel anything. He took a sip of whiskey, the heat chasing away some of the emptiness. 

“I saw Kemper.” He said, lips warm from the drink. 

“You what?! By yourself? Holden-“

“The hospital called. He tried to kill himself. Or...or he pretended to, anyway.” He took another drink, freeing his tongue. “I didn’t want to, but I felt like I had too, you know?” 

“He’s playing you, just like he has been.” Bill frowned. “I can’t believe you went out there by yourself.” He grumbled. 

“I just...there was the investigation, and Debbie, and then Kemper...I don’t know. I thought I could deal with him.” Bill wordlessly refilled his glass; Holden hadn’t noticed it was already empty. 

“You thought a serial killer was more manageable than your ex-girlfriend?” Bill chuckled. Holden raised his eyes to look at him. “I’m kidding.” 

“I shouldn’t have gone.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Bill agreed. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now.” He said, draining his own glass in conclusion. 

Holden took a breath. The lump in his throat, which had been there since the nightmares started, was gone. He took another sip. Whiskey burned off the numbness and he could feel his body again, for the first time all week. Maybe he’d be able to sleep. 

Holden slept soundly until the booze faded and the hands returned. He flung himself out of bed, the blankets tangling around his feet. In the dark of the hotel room he tripped over his bag and landed hard on the floor. He could feel friction burns on his elbows, his knees, his face. 

And he could still feel Kemper’s hands around his neck. He closed his eyes tight. Hands on his shoulders raised him to panic and he frantically fought back. 

“Holden! Calm down! It’s just me! Fuck, kid, relax.” Bill’s familiar voice intoned, deep and reassuring to his ear. “What’s really wrong with you?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” He managed, covering his mouth and trying to get up again. Bill pressed the small trash bin to his chest and Holden heaved into it, bile burning through him sharp enough to draw tears. 

Bill manhandled him into a seated position, half holding him up. Holden clutched the bin tighter, stomach clenching even though there was nothing left in him. He dry heaved again and again, the feeling of hands on his neck fading until it was subtle, until it wasn’t there unless he thought about it. 

But, God help him, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Still, he couldn’t breathe. He knew it would pass, it always did, but he couldn’t breathe. And Bill wanted him to talk. 

“Are you ok?”

Holden shook his head, hand over his mouth to muffle an unintended sob. 

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt?” Bill’s hands searched him for injury but found nothing. Holden wondered, half-frantic, if he’d be able to how broken he was on the inside, wondered if the cracks were showing through. 

“I don’t know.” He said, ragged breaths not drawing enough air. He tried to keep his terror to himself. 

Even in the shadowy darkness, shadows big enough to hide someone, (even Kemper, Holden thought in panic) Bill could read him. “Yes, you do.” 

“Kemper.” Holden managed, before his stomach tried to turn itself inside out again. Bill’s hand swept up and down his back, swaths of warmth against his otherwise cool skin. Sometimes, Holden forgot Bill was a father and he did have some instinct for comforting, for protectiveness. 

Holden’s stomach unclenched and he leaned back against Bill. 

“What did he do?” His partner asked, voice rumbling in his chest. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He...he hugged me. But, I thought he was...I thought he was going to kill me. The guard...I was alone.” Holden admitted, hesitant. Even bringing it up made his heart beat faster in his chest. 

Bill’s arms tightened around his shoulders. “Shit.” 

“Yeah.” Holden knew he should stop talking, but he needed to tell someone. And Bill was a better option than Wendy or...well, Debbie didn’t care anymore. And he couldn’t talk to his parents about this sort of thing. “The doctor said I had a panic attack.” 

“Ed Kemper touches you, I think you’re suppose to panic. Sounds like a good instinct to me.” Bill said gruffly. 

“Not suppose to lose it, though.” Holden could feel the adrenaline crash but he shouldn’t fall back to sleep. “Can’t study crazy people if you’re...if you’re crazy, you know?” 

Bill pulled away from him, looking at his face. “You’re not crazy. Not like the people we study. Not like Kemper.” He said, assured and confident. 

“I’ve had nightmares. Every night. I haven’t been able to sleep.” Holden admitted, like a child in confessional, eager to turn his sins over to someone who knew what to do with them. 

“Shit, Holden.” Bill sighed. 

“I’ll, after this trip, I’ll resign. We can hire someone else to-“

“Do you want to quit?” Bill asked. “Do you want a different job?” His voice was a sharp snap, and that was good because Kemper’s was low and lulling. He appreciated the contrast. Needed it. 

“No, of course not, but-“

“No buts. I know I complain about you, but I do not want to be doing this with someone else.” Bill said. 

“I’m losing it, though. I can’t...I’m broken.” 

“You’ll get better.” Bill said. “This shit is suppose to mess with you. It’s fucked up. If it didn’t, pretty sure that would mean you were fucked up too.” 

“Oh.” Holden paused. “Does it...are you…?”

“Oh yeah, I’m messed up too, kid.” Bill laughed humorlessly. 

“Oh.” Holden closed his eyes and settled against Bill again. 

“Uh uh. Up. Go rinse your mouth out.” Bill coaxed, a hand on Holden’s back to steer him. He rinsed the trash can in the bathtub, not even flinching. 

“I’m sorry.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I have a kid, Holden. There’s nothing you can do that’s grosser than something he’s already done.” He smiled wanly. “Back to bed.” 

Holden stilled. “Usually I can’t fall back to sleep.” He admitted. 

Bill ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I really need sleep. Just get in my bed.” 

Maybe it was the exhaustion of cross country travel and not sleeping for a week, or maybe it was Bill’s reassuring presence. But Holden slept dreamlessly until morning. 

—-

Their interview ended early because Holden asked the right (wrong?) question, and the inmate launched himself at him. He only landed one good blow to his cheek before the guard and Bill had him pinned to the ground and cuffed. 

Holden stood still as the numbness overwhelmed him. He was drowning in not feeling, in over his head in something unnameable. 

“We’re done here.” Bill said, grabbing the recording device roughly. He shoved Holden towards the door, forcing him to follow another guard who guided them out. “Keep it together until we get to the car.” Bill whispered, squeezing his shoulder. 

Holden felt like he was walking through syrup, movements laborious and slow. It felt like it took hours to be free from the prison, hours until he saw sunlight. He couldn’t feel it but he knew it should be warm. 

“Sit.” Bill pushed him into the passenger seat of the car. “Breathe.”

Holden wanted to answer, but waves of terror were washing over him and he couldn’t form the words. Ed Kemper‘s hands were tight around his neck, pulling him further down. His head buzzed like static and everything was starting to go dark, colors giving way to blacks and grays. 

“For fuck’s sake, breathe!” Bill’s voice broke through, pushing his head down to his knees. His vision surged with color again and he took a shaky breath. 

“Can’t!” He panted. 

“Don’t talk.” Bill shushed him. “Just try not to pass out on me.” 

Holden nodded, covering his face. This would get better, he reminded himself. This would stop. He wouldn’t feel like this much longer. He repeated his mantra over and over, until he could finally inhale passed the hands around his throat. 

Bill squeezed his arm. He was still in front of him, kneeling there. He fixed Holden in an appraising stare. “You hungry?” He finally asked. 

“I-“ Holden rasped, throat dry. 

“I’m starving. I’d kill for a good burger.” He stood, gently closing the door after Holden moved. “And a shake.” He continued, as though without pause, as he entered the car. 

He drove to a diner in town, corralling Holden into a booth near the back of the place. He ordered for both of them. Holden wasn’t sure he could speak even if he wanted too. It seemed like it would take a herculaneum effort. 

He didn’t want to eat, but the waitress placed a shake in front of him and he couldn’t resist. He sipped at it slowly, the coldness crisp and refreshing after all the numbness. 

Bill dipped one of his fries in his own shake and ate it, grinning when Holden copied him. Eventually he managed to drink his whole shake and eat all his fries, even consuming half the burger. 

He felt better, less numb. The hands were a distant memory, but they were still there. He wondered if Kemper’s hands would always be there. 

“C’mon.” Bill said, after they’d paid. “Let’s get some ice, that’s really starting to bruise.”

Holden waited outside while Bill chatted with their waitress. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, a purple bruise deepening on his cheek. Debbie would-

Debbie wouldn’t see it. 

Kemper’s hands tightened. All alone. Holden was all alone. Alone at home, alone on the road. Would anyone even notice if-

“Ice.” Bill said, unceremoniously dropping an improvised ice pack into his hands. 

Holden wanted to talk, but the hands were too tight. He nodded instead. The drive to the hotel was silent. Holden’s cheek throbbed in time with his heart beat, in time with the hands tightening around his throat. He closed his eyes and willed everything to go back to being normal. Or at least, back to being numb. 

In the hotel room, Bill sighed. “You gonna talk?” 

“Sorry.” Holden whispered. 

“Yeah, me too.” Bill said, kicking his shoes into the corner by the door and tossing his tie on the table. “Shoulda known he was gonna hit ya. You really piss people off, you know that?”

“Sorry.” He repeated. 

Bill exhaled noisily. “Don’t be.” Then, a wicked grin. “I didn’t turn the tape off, Wendy’s gonna hear the whole thing.” He laughed. 

He didn’t mention Greg. Greg was gone, had requested a transfer. It was just a slap on the wrist, Holden reminded himself. Just a small punishment. Still, the hands tightened. 

Holden straightened up a bit, forcing a small smile. “Audio really doesn’t do it justice.” He said, feeling warm when Bill laughed, really laughed, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. 

“You don’t want video of you getting punched in the face. You’d never live it down.” Bill chuckled. “Seriously, though. You ok?” 

Holden shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, sure.” He could raise his voice. Kemper’s hands were too tight. 

“Let me know if you need anything.” Bill said, settling into read over a file. 

Holden laid down. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he did. The next thing he knew, Kemper has killed him and fucked his corpse, while his ‘spirit-wives’ held Holden down and made him watch. He screamed but the sound wouldn’t come out, because his throat was slit wide open. 

Holden woke to Bill’s hand over his mouth and that- that was too close, too much, too everything. He flailed frantically, desperate to get away. 

“Hey, it’s ok.” Bill said even though Holden knew deep in his gut it was not, would never be, ok. “You were screaming, didn’t want to wake the neighbors.” 

Clumsily, Holden propelled himself to the bathroom. He retched into the toilet, until he couldn’t breathe anymore, because Kemper’s hands-

“Holden!” 

He gasped for air, relief flooding his lungs. Bill was behind him, stroking his back gently. 

“There you go…” Bill caught him as his strength faded, letting him slump back against him. “Tell me about the nightmares.”

“Kemper killed me, and fucked my corpse.” He said, too exhausted to care when the hands twitched around his neck. “His spirit-wives make me watch.”

“Spirit wives?” 

“That’s what he called the girls he killed. Said…” Holden trailed off. 

“He thinks they're always with him.” Bill finished. “That’s fucked up.” 

“Yeah.”

“He got to you a lot, huh.” Bill said. Holden shrugged. “I’m giving you a pass here to talk about feelings and shit, don’t waste it.” Bill added, his voice gentle; more like he was talking to his son than to an adult. 

“Him and...everything. All of it. Debbie and OPR, Speck…” Holden felt tears prickle in the corner of his eyes. “Everything. Just everything.” He breathed. “Fuck.”

Bill tightened his arms around him. “You bottle everything up, this is what happens.” He explained. 

“I don’t know what else to do.” Holden admitted. “I can feel him choking me.” He whispered. 

“It’s gonna get better.” Bill said uselessly. 

“But what do I…? What do you do?” 

Bill laughed darkly. “I’m not sure I’m doing it right either, kid.” 

“You don’t have nervous breakdowns.” Holden pointed out. 

“Well, there’s that. Just...you keep it bottled up, it eats away at your insides like acid. Get a hobby. Go outside.”

“Golf?” Holden said, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe. If that works.”

“I can’t play golf.” Holden admitted. 

“Not surprising.” Bill teased. “But you do like things besides talking to psychos, so do that.” Holden was starting to sag in his arms. “Alright, back to bed.” 

Holden allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, following Bill out of the bathroom. He paused, staring at his bed. The tangled blankets had fallen over the side in a pile and the pillows were on the floor. 

“Bed. C’mon. Don’t be weird.” Bill pushed him towards his bed, setting the trash bin on his side. “Just in case.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I’m right here, if you need anything.” Bill said, looking at him meaningfully. 

“Thanks.” Holden repeated sleepily. He started to drift off to sleep, trying to think of anything but the nightmares. 

“Holden?”

“Hm?”

“I’m always gonna be right here.” The lamp clicked out and Bill’s words resonated in the drab hotel room, weakening the grip of Kemper’s hands ever so slightly.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cecilia and the Satellites by Andrew McMahon. 
> 
> Full line is “Crashed my car, I was 17  
> My mother in the seat riding next to me  
> The things I've learned from a broken mirror  
> How a face can change when a heart knows fear”


End file.
